


Don't Go

by tumantuke



Category: Senki Zesshou Symphogear
Genre: Angst, F/F, Romance, Sexual Content, Yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumantuke/pseuds/tumantuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Tsubasa have been a thing for months now, fooling around when they can, pretending they're not when they can't. Something that was supposed to be "just a fling" has since turned into something more.</p><p>And Chris can't even deal.</p><p>Set between G and GX. Followup to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6170458">Never Let Your Guard Down</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go

**1.**  
**That Night.**

Sex with Tsubasa Kazanari is a lot like dancing.

Or at least dancing as Chris Yukine pictures it.

She's not much for dancing.

If you were to point out to her that the way she fights is essentially dancing, with the acrobatic manoeuvres and the inhuman agility and grace she can't seem to display outside the battlefield, she would probably call you an idiot and tell you that dancing doesn't involve _guns_.

She couldn't tell freestyle from sambo if her life depended on it. And even if she could, getting all hot and bothered for no good reason isn't her idea of fun.

But as Chris watches Tsubasa shed her clothes from the safety of her bed, she manages to get all hot and bothered anyway.

Bothered partly because for all her elegance and discipline on the stage and the battlefield, Tsubasa has the domestic habits of a teenage boy. Chris winces as Tsubasa's shorts, flung to the metaphorical winds, smack against her desk lamp, knocking it over and scattering her homework with the speed of their passing. The elastic she uses to keep her hair up follows suit, draping itself on a bedpost.

But personal neatness aside, Chris is bothered mostly because, even as many times as she's seen Tsubasa naked by now, watching her get there still makes her feel funny inside.

Watching Tsubasa stand there, her long, dark hair let down for the night, one hand on her hip, completely and utterly uncovered sets Chris's heart racing. Among other body parts.

Tonight feels different from the other times, though. Chris can't tell what it is - only that Tsubasa's eyes look a little distant as she makes her way over to the bed, and she doesn't say a word as she slides in next to Chris, shoving the blankets aside.

Not that she's normally chatty by anyone's standards.

But Chris is used to Tsubasa taking the initiative.

So the hesitant way the older girl's hand brushes Chris's shoulder, the tentativeness in how Tsubasa reaches for her breast...

It's troubling.

Tsubasa leans in, her eyes searching for something. Whatever it is, Chris has a sneaking suspicion that she's not going to find it.

Even the way Tsubasa kisses her is different from the other times - especially the first time.

Her lips touch Chris's softly. It's not a kiss of passion, or lust. Chris has a hard time telling what it is.

As she pulls back, one hand still absentmindedly stroking Chris's breast, Chris decides she's had enough of guessing games.

"Is something wrong?" she asks.

Tsubasa frowns. "What?"

"You seem..."

 _Distant_.

 _Cold_.

"... distracted," Chris says.

Tsubasa shakes her head. "Sorry, Yu- Chris. My mind was somewhere else."

It's not enough to mollify her. Even someone like Chris can catch a conversational slip. Tsubasa hasn't called her 'Yukine' in private for months.

What _does_ mollify her is what comes next.

Tsubasa presses against Chris and kisses her again, harder, deeper...

... sloppier. Chris wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as Tsubasa pulls away.

"How was that?" she asks.

Chris flushes. "A little better."

That, at least, gets a small laugh out of her. "Just 'a little better'?"

"You'll have to try harder," Chris says, smirking.

Her smirk turns into a grimace as Tsubasa takes one of her nipples between her fingers and begins to tweak it. Chris can feel them stiffening to Tsubasa's touch.

"I'll never get used to the faces you make," Tsubasa says. She moves her face down to Chris's breast, planting a kiss on her neck as she goes.

"Yours aren't great either," Chris breathes.

Tsubasa shushes her, placing her free hand against her mouth, slipping her finger between Chris's lips as she gently tongues her nipple.

Chris lets out a muffled moan as Tsubasa begins to work her over in earnest. She's only at it for a minute or two, at most, but Chris finds herself trembling, shifting under Tsubasa's touch. Reflexively, she grabs Tsubasa's wrist and begins to suck on her finger.

Tsubasa draws herself up, withdrawing her hands. As she moves lower, she traces them down Chris's body. She gently parts Chris's legs, kissing her inner thigh, then shifts them under, raising Chris's hips to meet her face.

Ordinarily, Chris would say something snarky. Not this time. She's too busy trying not to melt. Instead she sits up, propping her back against the headboard of her bed, pulling Tsubasa with her. There are times for words. This isn't one of them.

She runs a hand through Tsubasa's hair, cupping her own breast with the other, as Tsubasa buries herself in Chris.

All the work Tsubasa's done beforehand means Chris almost explodes the moment Tsubasa's tongue touches her again. Her hand tightens on Tsubasa's hair as she begins.

Which is the whole reason Tsubasa started letting her hair down during their nights together. She learned the hard way - Chris is a tugger. And high side tails make for excellent grips, but an incredibly awful experience on the part of the poor soul on the receiving end.

Chris holds out as long as she can, but Tsubasa's had far too much practise.

She tenses and curls over as Tsubasa probes, and strokes, and sucks. She doesn't see what Tsubasa's doing with her hand, but she feels it. She feels every inch of it. Chris raises herself up by pushing down with her legs, freeing Tsubasa's other hand to take care of herself.

The best she can do is try not to cry out too loud. The neighbours would be scandalized.

Several orgasms and one damp spot later, Chris collapses back, sweaty, happy, and flushed with pleasure. Smiling, Tsubasa slides up and kisses her again. Chris tastes herself on Tsubasa's lips.

"Better?" Tsubasa asks.

Chris nods, trying to breathe. She rolls onto her side, still curled up.

She knows she's going to pay for it tomorrow with an incredibly sore abdomen.

Tsubasa smiles. "Good. Now move over."

She pulls the blanket over them, then drapes one arm over Chris. "Good night," she says, placing a soft kiss on the back of Chris's head.

It's not long before Tsubasa falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

 **2.**  
**Afterglow.**

But Chris doesn't. She can't.

She whispers as much, laying her head against Tsubasa's shoulder.

She knows Tsubasa can't hear her. Not the way she's sleeping now.

She's talking for her own benefit.

Anxiety and fear aren't unfamiliar to Chris. She was much younger when her parents' lives were torn away, but she can clearly remember the years when she spent most of her days in chains - years that turned her bitter and vengeful. Years that a madwoman used to shape her into a weapon for her own sick purposes.

She remembers a time when she believed that anyone who talked about love and happiness was trying to sell her something, when the only hands reached out to her were curled into fists, when the only touches she felt left her cold, miserable, nauseous.

Chris Yukine spent most of her formative years being kicked around, mistreated, spit on, and generally not having the most pleasant of lives.

So it's no surprise that even after all this time she doesn't know how to process the woman lying next to her.

There are three words that she would give anything to hear at this moment in time, with Tsubasa's arm draped around her shoulder, holding her close, and her warmth a hair's breadth away away. They sound stupid every time she floats them in her head.

But Tsubasa is asleep.

And as much as Chris wants to hear those words, she has a hard time saying them herself. At least when Tsubasa is awake.

So she watches Tsubasa sleep in silence. The blanket draped over her is too thin to actually conceal the fact that she's completely naked. Not that either of them were concerned with concealing anything just an hour ago.

But concealment is a big part of it. For the longest time Chris thought it would be a good thing to hide their relationship from the others. No telling how old man Genjuro would react. Not that she's ever asked him what he thought about that sort of thing.

As far as most of their other friends know, there's nothing between them but a strictly proprietary senior-junior friendship. Tsubasa has been careful not to let any hint slip out. If asked - not that anyone has had the temerity to ask - Chris could say that the two of them have a completely platonic relationship.

Which is true. Specifically, the kind of platonic relationship Plato had with his students. With all the gay sex.

It's not quite enough, Chris thinks. Miku Kohinata, at the very least, knows and has known since the start. And if Miku knows, then Hibiki Tachibana knows. But they haven't told anyone. She knows them and trusts them, even if she sometimes thinks Hibiki would forget to breathe if Miku weren't there to remind her.

And in the dark, when she's being completely honest with herself - something that she's still practising - Chris doesn't know if there's anything to tell.

Tsubasa staying over isn't something that happens very frequently. Usually they have to sneak time where they can find it, except that one memorable afternoon in a barn. She's still not sure how _that_ managed to happen.

But Tsubasa's responsibilities as a pop star don't often allow them to spend the night at Chris's place. And over the last few months there were all the battles and misunderstandings that made things even harder. But the battles are over, the Noise are gone, and the pop star has been shelved for the moment. For now, there are no fights, no concerts, no obnoxious quiz shows, no costumes to pick out. For now, Tsubasa is just Tsubasa.

Chris knows she can never be just Chris. She has too many ghosts looking over her shoulder.

That's part of the trouble.

There's another reason Chris can't sleep.

She still can't get a handle on their relationship.

The memory of Tsubasa's momentary coldness sticks in her mind. Chris asked her, all those months ago, not to let what they were doing change too much between them, but now she's feeling as though that was the wrong thing to say. Now she's feeling as though too little has changed.

Three words.

Three words would make all the difference.

When Tsubasa is awake, Chris doesn't bring that up.

She tries not to think about it at all.

The last person to tell her she loved her also strapped her to torture instruments on a regular basis and threw her aside like a wad of tissue when she was no longer useful. In Chris's more emotionally lucid moments, she knows that probably has more than a little to do with it.

So she watches, and waits. She fools around with Tsubasa some nights, trying to squash the pressure building in her chest. And she holds Tsubasa like she's holding her now, scared to hold too tightly, scared to let go.

 _This is stupid_ , she says to herself.

The first rays of dawn sneaking through the window tell her it would be time to get up, if she had gotten any sleep in the first place.

Chris gets to her feet and shrugs a shirt on - or tries to. As she pulls at the shirt, she realizes it's both far too long and far too tight across the chest.

Tsubasa's terrible habit of leaving clothes lying around everywhere means sometimes it's impossible for Chris to find her own clothes on the nights they're together.

She makes her way around the bed over to the shirt's owner, aware of every creak her feet make on the floorboards. It's rare that Tsubasa sleeps so deeply, or so well. It's also rare that Chris is up before she is.

It's a precious moment.

Chris doesn't want to break it.

She kneels next to the bed, close enough to hear the gentle rhythm of Tsubasa's breathing, ignoring how cold the floor is against her bare knees. In sleep, it's almost as though the grace and poise that rule Tsubasa's waking hours get set aside. Her hand, so rigid and deadly when wrapped around the hilt of her sword, is curled into a loose fist next to her face. Chris thinks back to what that hand was doing to her earlier that night, and can't help but flush.

It's just for a moment.

Chris leans in, her mouth next to Tsubasa's ear.

She whispers the three words she would never say while Tsubasa was awake.

Slowly, quietly, she gets to her feet and makes her way out of the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

 

 **3.**  
**Breakfast.**

There's an aroma of hot toast and fresh tea and coffee coming from the kitchen of Chris's apartment. Which can mean only one thing.

As she rounds the corner, Shinji Ogawa turns, smiles, inclines his head slightly, and goes back to fixing breakfast. He's wearing an apron over his impeccably pressed suit, although Chris is certain that he's fully capable of dodging any errant flecks of grease and oil coming from the stove.

And there's another relationship Chris has trouble getting a handle on.

For as long as she's known Tsubasa, Ogawa has been her shadow. Chris isn't really sure what he is. Tsubasa never asks for his opinion, but she listens when he gives it. He taught her how to fight - at least, the parts her uncle didn't teach her - but he also cleans her chronically messy room, fixes her busy schedule, and interacts with the world so she doesn't have to. He even answers the phone on her behalf.

He's not quite her big brother. But he's more than a servant or a bodyguard or her manager. He doesn't just work for her. It's hard for her to wrap her head around it.

And then there's the whole post-coital breakfast-fixing thing.

He's done this every time Tsubasa has spent the night at Chris's place.

She still can't deal with it. Whenever Ogawa shows up at her place, unannounced, yet somehow never unexpected, doing some blissfully domestic thing, Chris can't help but feel the smouldering embers of her rage flare up, even just a little. Privacy should be, well, private.

Chris is a big fan of flying off the handle. In fact, it would be difficult to find someone more prone to doing so.

But there's something about Ogawa that makes it difficult to get angry at him. Possibly the constant, calm demeanour, or the fact that he's been a rock for Tsubasa for years, or that he saved Miku's life once, or that he never fails to be cheerful and helpful.

Or possibly the fact that he's an actual ninja. She once saw him kick a fly out of the air at a 2nd Division team building picnic, for no other reason than the fact that it was considering landing on Tsubasa's sandwich. The fly didn't quite die - it ceased to exist. Ogawa's black oxfords somehow remained spotless, and Tsubasa remained unaware that her sandwich's virtue had ever been threatened.

Sometimes Chris pictures herself as the fly.

But in his usual infuriating manner, Ogawa has never so much as once raised any objection to Chris touching Tsubasa's sandwich.

She pulls a seat at her dinner table. Ogawa has already set two places, one for her and one for Tsubasa. As she watches him flipping a pancake, which he neatly catches out of the air without even looking while buttering a slice of toast with his other hand, it occurs to her that she's never actually seen him eat.

The kitchen is silent aside from the whir of the fan, the sound of frying oil, and the rustle of Ogawa's apron. Chris rests her cheek on her palm as she watches him cook. As alien and intrusive as his presence in her kitchen still is, watching Ogawa cook is strangely hypnotic - so hypnotic that she doesn't notice her lack of sleep sneaking up on her.

Chris jerks awake to find the table fully set, a pitcher full of freshly squeezed orange juice (where did he get oranges this time of year?) sitting on the lazy susan, and Ogawa wiping his hands off with a rag, looking at Chris with an indefinable expression.

"What?" she says, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into her voice. "I didn't get enough sleep."

She realizes her mistake almost as soon as the words leave her mouth. Anyone else she knew, except perhaps Miku, might have taken the opportunity to say something scandalous about the reason she couldn't get to bed.

But Ogawa doesn't. Chris isn't sure he and scandalous implications have ever been in the same zip code. He nods, smiles, and turns back to the refrigerator. "Will you wait for Tsubasa to join you at the table, or just start breakfast now?" He withdraws a box of cream that Chris doesn't remember buying and sets it aside. "The toast is getting cold."

Suddenly the memory of the fly isn't enough. Chris slams her fist on the table, rattling the cutlery and nearly upsetting the juice.

"Is that all you have to say?" she snarls.

He turns, wearing a gratifying look of mild surprise on his face. It's the first time outside the battlefield she's seen him with something other than a smile.

It feels good.

She gets to her feet and draws herself up to her full height, becoming increasingly aware that her head doesn't even come up to Ogawa's shoulders. "You don't think all of this is a little _weird_?" she says, jabbing an accusing finger somewhere in the general vicinity of his chest.

"All this?" Ogawa says.

"This!" Chris says, gesturing at his apron. He's hung it up on a hook that Chris doesn't remember installing.

Ogawa shrugs. "Culinary hygiene is very important."

Before she realizes it, Chris's hands have found their way to her head. She restrains herself before she pulls two fistfuls of hair out. "No, I mean _this_. You, here. Me and Tsubasa. _All of it_."

Ogawa smiles gently. Of course he does. But she's not ready for what he says next. "Do you think there's something wrong with the relationship you two have?"

"Do you?" Chris sputters.

And then he surprises her again by doing something else she's never seen him do.

He draws up a chair and sits down, gesturing for her to take a seat as well. In spite of herself, she does. Being flabbergasted can make people extremely pliable.

"Miss Yukine," he begins. "I have two jobs. One is as an agent of the 2nd Division - no, SONG, now. In that capacity, I do whatever I can to protect the people under our jurisdiction. The other is to keep Tsubasa alive and well. Those are the things that I get paid to do. But I have a third job, that I don't get paid to do. I consider it the most important, and I wouldn't accept money for it in any case. And that is making sure Tsubasa is happy. You're helping with that third one." He places a finger on his chin thoughtfully. "Although you did make keeping her alive much harder than it should have been, once upon a time."

Chris processes this in silence, including the fact that he called her 'Miss Yukine'. It's disorienting.

She picks up on the critical bit quickly. "Is she happy?"

Ogawa nods. "She's the happiest she's been in a long time."

He doesn't mention how long, but Chris knows.

She's been in Tsubasa's room. Once. Not for more than a few minutes. But the one time she was there, she noticed the picture on her desk. Two girls, one tall with flaming hair, posing flamboyantly for the camera, one arm wrapped loosely around the other - a younger, softer version of the Tsubasa she's known all this time, wearing an expression Chris has never seen on her face, and knows she never will.

Kanade Amou died almost three years ago, long before Chris ever met Tsubasa. And she only ever heard about her secondhand. But sometimes Chris feels Kanade's presence. Especially when she's alone with Tsubasa.

Chris isn't the only one with ghosts.

"I'm not trying to replace her, you know."

"Hm?"

"Kanade."

"I'm not suggesting you are," Ogawa says. "That would be a ridiculous, disrespectful thing to ask of anyone. I said as much to Miss Hibiki a long time ago - albeit in a very different context."

"Then what are you saying?" Chris asks, trying not to growl, mostly succeeding. Mostly.

"Nothing. Other than this: you make her happy."

Chris nods. "Is she really happy, though?"

"I have known her for a very long time. So believe me when I say yes."

She bites her lip. "She could show it once in a while. Other than, you know. In the bedroom."

Ogawa pours a glass of orange juice and hands it to Chris. She takes it by reflex, despite her animosity. It's just something about the way Ogawa does things. "You know her - you should, by now," he says. "She's not a shower. But if it bothers you..."

"I'm not going to talk to her about it," Chris says, shaking her head. "It would make things weird."

"Miss Yukine," Ogawa says softly. "It can't be any weirder than having a man you barely know in your kitchen fixing you breakfast after you just had sex with his boss's niece."

Chris flushes. "You _do_  think it's weird!"

"No," he says, "But I know you do. If it bothers you, I'll stop."

She considers telling him to do so. Briefly. It would do wonders for her peace of mind. Eventually she decides against it. "No," she mumbles. "No, Tsubasa is the kind of person who thinks breakfast just appears before she gets up. And I usually never get up first when we're... together. I guess you can keep doing it. For as long as this lasts."

Chris looks down at her untouched orange juice. "I keep telling myself we never meant for it to be more than just a fling."

"Most 'flings' don't last this long," Ogawa says.

"Still feels like one."

"But you want it to be more."

She nods mutely.

"Are you sure it's not already?"

"No," she says. "That's the problem. I'm not sure."

"You may have to make sure soon," Ogawa says. There's something in his voice that makes her sit up and take notice.

"What are you saying?"

"Only that there are some things that can't be said over a long-distance telephone call."

His words are like a bucket of ice water to her face.

"What do you mean _long distance_?"

Ogawa shakes his head. "The UN has called on her to go overseas. She'll be performing in London with Miss Maria. It'll be a long time before she comes back." He looks at Chris. She can see something that looks like pity in his eyes. "She leaves in two weeks."

"She's _leaving_?"

He doesn't reply. Not to her, at least. Instead he looks to the hallway, flint in his gaze. "She was going to find out eventually," he says. "Better now than the day before your flight."

Chris turns. Tsubasa is standing there, leaning against the wall, wrapped in her blanket.

"I meant to tell you," she begins.

 

* * *

 

 **4.**  
**Anger.**

The river is calm. City rivers usually are, even when they're not filled with garbage.

Chris still isn't.

She walks along the brick path, one hand brushing the railing, the other clenching and unclenching, staring out over the water.

Every now and then people stop and stare. But only for a moment.

She may be barefoot, wearing a shirt that's way too tight for her and shorts that are a standing affront to decency, but even casual passersby can sense that Chris isn't someone to be bothered. Not now.

Chris has spent a long time learning how to touch things without breaking them.

More than anyone else, she knows how much a single moment of anger can cost.

Yet sometimes that knowledge isn't enough to stop her from losing it.

Sometimes even lessons paid for in literal blood and tears don't take.

On an ordinary day the gulls squawking overhead would have driven her insane. And that wouldn't be an abnormal reaction, even for someone who wasn't Chris. There are very few living humans who can say they like city gulls and keep a straight face.

But the blood pounding in her ears is still too loud to hear anything that isn't coming from inside.

And the shirt she's wearing still smells like Tsubasa.

That makes her madder than the gulls ever could.

There had been a fight, of course.

It wasn't a screaming match. Screaming matches usually take at least two people to start with.

Chris had been the only one doing the screaming. And there was a lot of it.

She doesn't really remember most of what she said.

She doesn't really want to.

Chris has a vague impression of a lot of bitter, poisonous nonsense, all of it coming out of her own mouth.

Almost as though the broken, shrunken thing Finé had molded her into, that ghost of shame and grief banished by the friendship of Tsubasa and the others, had been lying in wait, waiting for the worst possible moment to rear its ugly head.

There was a lot of stuff about betrayal, and being used, and being tossed aside when it became convenient.

She'd screamed herself hoarse, and Tsubasa had just stood there, taking it, looking crushed and miserable.

It just made Chris angrier.

The Tsubasa she knows is a fighter, not one to take anything lying down.

Chris had wanted her to scream back.

Throw things.

Maybe wave her sword around a bit. Cut the couch in half. The couch was paid for with government money, anyway.

Chris had wanted Tsubasa to justify the bitterness coursing through her at that moment.

She didn't.

Instead, Tsubasa had eventually tried to apologize. At which point Chris had pulled on a pair of shorts, then stormed out of the apartment.

Her own apartment.

Without her keys.

Or her shoes.

Or clothes that wouldn't get her, if not arrested, at least fined for public exposure.

Anger tends to make someone miss things like that.

For example, Chris doesn't notice the car wheeling across the green until it screeches to a halt beside her.

She jumps back as the door slams open, her hand reflexively reaching for her Gear pendant - which she also, she realizes, forgot.

A voice thunders out. "Get in," it says.

It's a voice that Chris knows well. It also brooks no argument.

So she does.

As the car pulls away from the grass, leaving ruined landscaping and the possibility of angry civil servants and hefty fines behind, old man Genjuro hands Chris a jacket, keeping one of his gigantic, sun-browned hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road.

The drive passes in silence for the most part. Chris wraps herself in the jacket and leans against the window.

She doesn't want to speak. She's still angry.

She knows that anger makes you say stupid things, hurt people.

She'd spent most of that morning saying incredibly stupid things, and hurting someone important.

Chris manages to put her anger away for long enough to ask a question.

"Where are we going?"

Genjuro turns slightly. His face is the sternest she's ever seen it. "Not far."

She decides to press him. "Where?"

"A place of healing," he grunts.

 

* * *

 

 **5.**  
**Healing.**

In the time since Chris joined 2nd Division - now SONG - Genjuro Kazanari is the closest thing to a father she's had.

A distant father, who pays for her housing, schooling, and by extension, her food, but is usually too busy with his job to be around in person most of the time.

And one that insists on putting her through gruelling physical training, not just because as the wielder of Ichaival, she's a vital part of humanity's last defense against, well, pretty much anything, but because lung-withering workouts are his idea of fun. Possibly due to the fact that, like Tsubasa, he is physically incapable of ever being hot and bothered. Maybe hot, sometimes, and maybe bothered, but never both at the same time.

But he's a father nonetheless. One that cares about her in his own eternally cheerful, eternally bluff, inescapably bone-crushing way. One that helped pull her out of the pit in which she'd spent most of her life with a hug and a smile and a bag of warm food.

He also happens to be Tsubasa's uncle.

How do you tell your adoptive father that you're banging his niece whenever he turns his back?

You don't. Not if you're Chris Yukine. Or really, anyone else. It's not a conversation most people are equipped to have. Especially when the adoptive father in question is nearly six and a half feet of well-muscled government authority capable of punching so hard his shoes explode off his feet.

It's one more conversation she's been dreading.

So they don't talk much until they reach his "place of healing", which turns out to be an ice cream parlor a few blocks from the ruins of the original Lydian campus. It somehow miraculously survived the whole city-destroying apocalypse-dragon incident the previous year.

As they pick through the rubble that still litters the street - the Ministry of Land and Infrastructure has been woefully underfunded in recent years - Chris pulls her jacket tighter. It's not cold, this time of year, but she hates this part of town. Sure, she, Hibiki, and Tsubasa saved the world, but this neighbourhood is a standing reminder of the damage that was done that day. Except the parts that aren't actually standing. Those are just a regular, depressing reminder.

But for all the bad parts, there are good. Like ice cream. As they push through the door, the staff greets them cheerfully in unison. All of them appear to be wearing ice cream cones as hats, miraculously staying on top of their heads even as they bow halfway to the floor.

Genjuro plunks Chris neatly in a corner booth, stalks his way to the counter, and returns with two gigantic banana splits. He sets them both down on the table, takes a seat opposite Chris, and folds his massive arms across his even more massive chest.

Chris takes a spoon and begins to apathetically pick at one of the banana splits. It's not long before she's shoveling spoonfuls into her face.

She looks up, vaguely aware that her mouth is smeared with vanilla, and possibly a few flecks of banana bits. "Aren't you going to have any?"

He shakes his head. "It's all yours."

"Are you crazy?" she says. Or tries to. It _is_  difficult talking around a mouthful of ice cream. "I can't finish all this."

The old man shrugs. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

On any other day, Chris wouldn't. But it's not every day you have a relationship-ending fight. She's halfway through the second bowl before she remembers that the old man is probably going to make her run a few dozen kilometers to burn the excess off.

Still worth it. She sets the spoon down. "Okay, I'm done."

Genjuro arches an eyebrow. Grudgingly, she takes up the spoon again.

Another half-bowl of ice cream later, she shoves the empties away. "Okay, _now_ I'm done."

"Good!" Genjuro says, a toothy grin on his face. "How are you feeling?"

Chris briefly considers dissimulating. But it was Tsubasa hiding things that got her out here in the first place. And if she can't be honest with the old man, who can she be honest with?

"Awful."

He nods sagely. "Most people do right after a fight."

Chris snorts. "How did you find me?"

"I used my spiritual energy to locate you," he says. "In your emotional state, it wasn't hard."

She glares at him until he relents. "Okay, Ogawa told me."

"None of his business," she says.

"Whether or not it was, we're here now." He beams.

"Well?" Chris says, crossing her own arms. "Aren't you going to ask me what's wrong?"

Genjuro grunts a negative. "Unless you're willing to tell me. If you're not, I have money. Which means more ice cream."

"If I eat any more I'll die." Chris sighs, burying her face in her hands. "I just don't know where to start. How to start. I'm bad at telling people things," she mumbles. "I guess that's the whole problem. Can't say what I really want to say. And whenever I do open my mouth sometimes the wrong things come out."

Including ice cream. Genjuro passes her a napkin. It's for her face. The table is a lost cause. "Broad strokes, then," he says.

"Fine," she says. Chris rubs at her mouth with the napkin until her lips tingle. "So I had a fight. With Tsubasa. It was about..." She stops.

Genjuro nods. "Go on."

"I don't know what it was really about," Chris says. "I thought it was about her lying to me. Except it wasn't really."

He nods. "Sounds complicated."

"That's the thing," she says, rubbing her eyes blearily. "It shouldn't have been. But she hid something from me. She shouldn't have. But I shouldn't have gotten so angry."

He nods again. She gets the feeling she's going to be seeing a lot of nodding from him. "So what were you really angry at?"

"I don't know," Chris says. "I suppose the right thing to say here would be 'me'. I was angry at me."

"Why?"

"Because..."

_Because I was an idiot._

_Because I kept my mouth shut._

_Because I couldn't tell her how I really, really felt about her, and now it's too late._

"... because I was hiding something too."

"Well!" Genjuro says. "It looks like all that's left is to come out and tell her what you were hiding."

"That won't make it better. It won't even begin to make up for the things I said."

"No." He gets to his feet and stretches. The sound of his joints popping startles the children sitting in the next booth. One of them starts crying. "But it's a start. There are some things only the right words can do."

Chris smiles. "What happened to 'there are things stronger than words'?"

"I was talking about headbutts. And punches."

"Oh."

"I don't want you headbutting Tsubasa outside the training room." He reaches over and ruffles her hair. "Just think of the damage it would cause. Now come on, let's go. I'll drop you off at home. It's on the way back to work, anyway."

Despite herself, Chris smiles again. As she gets to her feet, she does something she's thought of doing, but never had the stones to. She hugs Genjuro as hard as she can. Or tries to. He's slightly wider around the torso than most people, and some trees.

Hugs are stronger than words too.

He places his enormous hand on her head and grins. "I'm glad I'm good for something other than sending you on dangerous missions to save the world!"

"You also pay for my food," she says, as they make their way out of the parlor.

"Also that."

The drive back is as silent as the drive there, and passes just as quickly. Before Chris knows it, the car is idling in front of her apartment building. As she steps out of the car, she turns. "By the way, I had a question."

Genjuro twiddles the wheel with his thumbs, almost as though he was expecting it. "What?"

"How long have you known?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says. He's a terrible liar, but she humours him.

"You know," Chris says. "About me and-"

He cuts her off with an upraised finger. "Not one word."

Chris crosses her arms, bemused.

"There are things that need to be said. But there are some things that _shouldn't_  be said. Ever. 'I'm banging your niece' is one of them." He sighs. "And now you've made me say it. I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck. Try not to say anything you'll regret."

She watches the car wheel off into the distance, shaking her head, wondering if there was ever any point in hiding anything. And wondering why she didn't pull on something more substantial than the shorts she's wearing right now.

 

* * *

 

 **6.**  
**Because.**

Thankfully, Chris didn't lock the door on the way out. She reflects that at least one thing went right today.

The apartment is dark. Chris flicks the light on and hangs her jacket in the hallway closet. There's a rustling sound coming from the living room. As Chris makes her way around the corner, she sees Tsubasa on the couch, hurriedly sitting up. The blanket that was covering her falls to the floor in a heap. Not that she would have needed a blanket. She's wearing a coat that falls to her thighs. Chris doesn't remember buying it, so presumably it's something else Tsubasa left behind one of the other times she stayed over.

"Hey," Chris says. "You waited for me?"

Tsubasa nods, clasping her hands together. "I didn't want to leave it at that. Are you still angry?"

"A little. Move over."

Tsubasa shifts herself so she's sitting against the arm of the couch. Chris plops down next to her and takes her hand.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"I should be saying that. I should have told you I was leaving."

"We can both be sorry." Chris rests her head on Tsubasa's shoulder. "Don't make it a contest. Anyway, I'm sorrier than you are. I said some really dumb things this morning."

"You didn't mean them."

"I did at the time," Chris sighs. "And if I'm being honest, I still kind of do. About the leaving, I mean. Less about the 'you're worse than Finé'. You're not. All you did was hide the truth. But why _didn't_  you tell me?"

Tsubasa turns to look at her, smiling wistfully. "I was scared of how you would react."

Chris laughs. "Waiting worked out, then. I reacted really well." She pauses. "You're not mad at him?"

"No," Tsubasa says. "Ogawa meant well. He always does. And it's a conversation we needed to have."

"There are a lot of conversations we needed to have," Chris whispers.

Tsubasa squeezes her hand. "There's still time. And I won't be gone forever."

Chris looks up into Tsubasa's eyes. She doesn't look as though she believes what she's saying.

"Tsubasa."

"Yes, Chris."

"If-" Chris stops herself, wondering if what she's about to ask is a fair question. Tsubasa looks at her expectantly.

She forges ahead. "If I asked you not to go, would you stay?"

"I'm not sure," Tsubasa says. "I actually might."

"Really? You've dreamed about singing overseas for so long."

"That's why I'm not sure. I don't want to hurt you. But..."

Chris shrugs. "Yeah. But. It's why I'm not going to ask you to do that. As much as I want to."

She pulls her legs onto the couch, takes Tsubasa's other hand, and turns to face her. "Because."

"I," Chris begins, then stops, her word tangling in her mouth. "I don't know how to say this. I'm scared it'll come out all wrong."

Chris takes a deep breath, and says it anyway.

Three words.

"I love you."

And the pressure in her chest, which has been suffocating her for months, disappears. Mostly. The shirt she's wearing is still too tight.

"Wow," she breathes. "That feels so much better."

Tsubasa smiles sadly. "It's been a long time since someone's told me that."

"I know. I bet she found it a lot easier than I did," Chris says. "And there's another thing I need to say."

"Yes?"

"I want you to go sing wherever and with whoever and for everyone."

"Even though you-"

" _Because_  I do." Chris smiles. "I can't keep you from doing something you've always dreamed of doing. Especially if you don't feel about me as strongly as I do about you."

"I-"

"Don't," Chris whispers, burying her face in Tsubasa's chest. She's still smiling, trying to be as brave as she can, but she can feel rebellious tears burning in her eyes. "Don't. Don't make this harder. It's not a question I need an answer to. Not yet. Let me have this. When you get back. Then you can tell me."

Tsubasa pulls her hand free from Chris's, tips her chin up so she can look into her eyes. Chris watches her through tears, watches her trying to find words, watches as she gives up and leans in to kiss her instead.

It's like the first time.

Not passion. Not lust. Just belonging.

Tsubasa leans back, cocking her head to one side. "That's strange."

"What?"

"Why do you taste like vanilla?" Tsubasa pauses for a second to lick her lips, an action so unlike her it startles Chris into laughter. "And bananas."

"Your uncle," Chris says, giggling, her tears forgotten for the moment. "He took me out for ice cream."

"Is that where you were all morning?"

"Yes." Chris kisses her back. "He knows, by the way."

"He always finds things out eventually," Tsubasa says. "I'm not worried. It's not as though he's going to tell my father."

Chris gapes. "I didn't know you had a da-"

Her words catch in her throat as Tsubasa shucks her coat off. She's completely naked.

Questions of paternity forgotten, Chris stares at her. "You didn't even dress yourself after I left?"

Tsubasa shrugs, the motion causing her breasts to shift ever so slightly. "I was expecting you to be home sooner." She frowns.

"What is it now?" Chris asks.

"That shirt you're wearing," Tsubasa says. "It barely fits you."

Chris strips the shirt off with much less effort than it took to pull it on, laying it on the coffee table, breathing in relief at the sweet feeling of freedom. She grins. "I've been waiting for an excuse to take it off all day."

Tsubasa picks the shirt up gingerly. "You can keep it. I think you've stretched it too much for me to ever wear it again."

Chris reaches up and places both her hands on Tsubasa's chest, palming her breasts gently. "Maybe you should just fill out a little."

Tsubasa laughs and leans back on the couch, easing herself under Chris. "They have catering in London. Maybe I will."

She pulls Chris to her and kisses her again, parting her lips with her tongue, probing the inside of her mouth almost hungrily, pushing her away again after a few seconds.

"I will miss you," she says.

Chris nods. "So will I. But I can give you something to remember me by. At least."

She murmurs a quiet apology to her parents for what she's about to do in direct line of sight of the living room shrine. Conscience assuaged temporarily, she reaches down between Tsubasa's legs.

Chris isn't anywhere near as dexterous as Tsubasa is, nor would she ever claim to be. She points oversized guns at things and pulls the trigger, and then the things explode. Often several times.

She makes up for what she lacks in dexterity with a whole lot of enthusiasm. Sure, she doesn't really know what dancing is.

But she does know it takes two.

And she does know how to pull a trigger.

She almost loses her balance as Tsubasa's own hand slips between her legs, brushing the pale thatch of her pubic hair briefly, then pressing into her.

Chris locks eyes with Tsubasa and grins. Tsubasa smiles back, pulling Chris to her with her free arm so that Chris's hips arch in the air.

Their strokes speed up, matching in intensity. Chris moans, sensation flooding her, just as Tsubasa begins to grind against her hand of her own accord.

Her partner doesn't make so much as a whimper, but Chris can tell from the way Tsubasa's chest heaves against Chris's body that she's doing _something_  right.

And then conscious thought disappears somewhere in a cloud of silver stars.

They lie on the couch quietly, breathing.

Tsubasa breaks the silence first. "Thank you," she whispers. "For everything."

Chris nods, not willing to speak, still a little woozy. Tsubasa kisses her on the top of the head.

"Will you see me off at the airport?"

"Yes," Chris says. "It would be weird if I wasn't there to say goodbye."

Tsubasa smiles. "It's not goodbye."

And in that moment, Chris can almost believe her.

**Author's Note:**

> EPILOGUE: Half a city away, in a supermarket, Maria feels a chill run through her body, almost as though she's about to be drawn into some kind of horrifyingly angsty love triangle. Kirika and Shirabe don't notice. They're too busy making out in the snacks aisle.


End file.
